Tyme Tryeth Troth: Trevelyan
by Iolana Khenemet
Summary: (Goldeneye AU) Archangel'sk was the key to Alec's future. Colonel Ourumov provided the cover. His best friend witnessed his execution. But then things went wrong. Formerly titled Archangel'sk.
1. Archangel'sk

Archangelsk  
By Iolana Khenemet  
Inspired by the movie Goldeneye  
Jan. 2004

Warnings: swear words  
Betas: Captain Mac  
Disclaimer: James Bond is the creation of Ian Fleming. The characters in the story are the property of Ian Fleming and United Artists, MGM, Eon. No copyright infringement intended. No profit is gained by this work.

* * *

- In my hostile impulsiveness  
I craved for freedom to seek.  
Blinded by that hope  
I fled to Chechnya to live – 

("The Confession of Cossack Frolov")

When the Soviet soldiers had left to pursue 007, Alec Trevelyan was still lying in the same position where he had fallen, "shot" to be more exact. A quick look at his watch told him he had about four minutes left, more than enough time to disable the explosives. Now it was time for him to rise from the dead.

Alec grimaced from the pain in his right arm. One of the drums Bond had sent tumbling down had hit him and was now effectively pinning his arm to the ground. Alec pushed himself onto his side with his left arm to get a look at the container and to free himself. A skull sign stared back at him, a deadly reminder of the content. He gulped. Sweat broke out on his brow as he heaved the freight off.

Sharp pain emanated from his lower arm. Damn, had he broken anything? Once free, he flexed his right hand and moved the wrist. It hurt but not overly so. With luck, it was just sprained. In one smooth movement, he rose.

And Alec laughed. Damn it, he was finally free, free to do as he pleased, no longer one of the Queen's lapdogs! Trevelyan revelled in what he was now.

A dead man.

A free man.

His own master.

Except for Ourumov, everyone assumed him dead.

Shots outside told him that they were still pursuing Bond. He would survive. His friend -no, former friend- had a habit to. Besides, Ourumov had agreed on 007's survival. One witness was needed to testify 006's death for MI-6.

Thinking of his former brother-in-arms in terms of Bond and 007 was easier than using his first name. The familiar "James" brought with it memories of comradeship, shared cigars, shared dangers and women. Their fierce friendship had been forged with blood and fire. They had been willing to die for each other. James had saved his life more often than he could count, and he had returned the favour equally. Alec cursed. His friendship with James was nothing worth thinking about anymore. Since he could not trust James with his deepest secrets, it was all smoke and mirrors anyway, wasn't it?

Alec used his foot to move one of the corpses so he could retrieve the dead soldier's machine gun. He found another clip in the man's belt and reloaded the weapon.

Trevelyan checked the time. He had approximately 3:25 minutes left. It was better if he disabled the detonator now with plenty of time, than later in a hectic rush with sweaty hands. Weapon ready, just in case someone re-entered, he went over to where the bomb was planted.

Clank.

He spun around. The noise came from a Soviet soldier trapped by two of the containers. Metal had torn; chemicals seeped out onto the human form beneath. The man stretched out a trembling arm, trying to pull himself free. As he noticed Alec, the arm rose and reached for him. "Help me."

One shot released the man from his sufferings as Alec granted him a coup de grace. No Soviet except Ourumov was to know of his defection. He looked around but detected no further movement. So he went on.

Trevelyan turned around the rack, his hand already outstretched for the timer, and froze. The digits showed 00:20. He stared as it turned to 00:19, only to be relieved by 00:18.

He blinked.

Impossible.

00:17

Impossible!

Fuck you, James!

Alec spun around. He threw himself on the same conveyer belt Bond had used. Outside, he sprinted for his life. However, he had to stay close to the buildings to keep from sight. Barely forty yards away, the explosion caught up with him.

Debris flew past him, nicked him, and he jumped for cover. Not fast enough, though. The flames hungrily bit into his face and right upper torso. He screamed when agonising pain seared through him. The smoke seemed to consume his lungs. He coughed and struggled to breath. Another part of the nerve gas facility exploded near him, sending new flames into his direction. He was caught in Armageddon; the fire claimed more and more of him. Then water splashed down on him, he didn't know from where and didn't care.

Whimpering, he lay there and writhed on the concrete, pressing his hand against his face to stop the pain, wanting to scream but unable to. A detached part of him noticed a plane soaring up. Bond had escaped. "Damn the bastard!"...Three minutes short...It wasn't fair…not fair…Mercifully, unconsciousness swept him away.

-fin ?-


	2. Ourumov's Point of View

Chapter 2 

The plane soared up, flying gracefully away as if to mock him. Behind Ourumov, more and more of the nerve gas facility exploded. He stood frozen with shock while heat and flames consumed the building. His career was over and his dreams had dissolved like fairy's gold in the moment a greedy finger touched it.

Slow motion snapped back to real time. Suddenly his second-in-command was there, already in the middle of shouting a report and asking him for orders.

Years of military drill and routine took over. "Move everyone to a safe distance into the wind direction. Report an Emergency Case One and ask for immediate assistance: military, medical and aircrafts. Have the helicopters fuelled so that they can help extinguish the fire and for transportation. Dismissed!"

The soldier made a crisp salute and started to shout orders into his radio.

Infuriated, Ourumov hurried towards the inferno and beckoned six men to follow him. None of them had been inside when he had staged the faked execution. "We're looking for survivors. And look out for someone dressed in a black uniform. We had a guest when the attack happened. Gas masks!" he ordered, and one of them hurried away to get them.

The icy winds fuelled the raging fires which consumed more and more of the buildings. A wave of heat met them, and the temperature increased the nearer they came to the buildings. Minor explosions took place, tearing metal apart and breaking glass and walls. Dead and injured soldiers were everywhere, and the screams of the wounded were horrible to hear.

The soldier returned with seven gas masks. When Ourumov put one on, the smell of chemical fumes, burning oil and soot was abruptly cut off.

Where should he start searching for the bastard? There was no need to check the storage room where the initial explosion had happened or the floor directly above. Nobody could have survived there. Only three ways led out of that room: the one at the front and the two stairways.

He dismissed the front exit. Trevelyan would not have wanted to be seen. Ourumov narrowed his eyes, and his gaze darted over the remaining building structures and the flames licking away at the remnants. The bastard could not have gotten out in time. Unless…unless he had used the same way the damn Brit had used!

"This way!"

The closer they got, the hotter it became. Instinctively, they recoiled.

"Look only within a radius of about 200 feet from the building but don't get too close to the flames," he ordered, and they spread out.

Another explosion happened further north. Ourumov seethed. Damn the Brit; and damn the day he had agreed to the deal. Never trust a defector.

"Colonel, we found someone. It could be the guest you mentioned," one of the soldiers reported.

Ourumov hurried along with him to where another soldier stood. He saw a leg clad in black underneath some fallen debris. He stepped closer. A large metal segment had fallen and created a shelter for the man. The question was, was the bastard already dead or still alive? He looked around. The other five soldiers were getting a few survivors away from the inferno and were occupied.

"Drag him out."

"Yes, Colonel."

The two soldiers pushed bits of the debris away, carefully avoiding getting burnt or hurt. Then each grabbed a leg. Together they pulled the man out.

The part of Trevelyan's face Ourumov could see was a ruined mess of burned flesh. "Is he dead?"

The soldier fumbled for a pulse at Trevelyan's wrist. He did not dare touch the throat. "Alive, Colonel."

"Get a stretcher." With a crisp gesture he beckoned the two soldiers to move quickly.

The two soldiers hurried away.

Alone with Trevelyan, Ourumov stared down at the motionless body. He drew his loaded gun and aimed. This was entirely the fault of the British defector. His knuckles were white and his fingers trembled. Then he let go of the trigger and holstered the weapon. Shooting Trevelyan would not achieve anything.

Ourumov knew that only one possibility existed to rebuild his career like a phoenix from the ashes.

* * *

Andie: Thank you :) I hope I can keep it coming, I'll certainly try! 

Nail Strafer : Glad you liked it :) We'll see a bit more about the aftermath of Archagel'sk

GreenCat: 'hugs' You know, I was always curious myself what Alec might have to say about those three minutes...Thank you for your kind words.  



	3. Off to Nowhere

The rotor blades were already spinning when Nurse Anjushka Kamarowa was urged towards the helicopter that was designed for medical purposes. She gazed over her shoulder, looking back at the flames and the smoke. Part of her was glad to get away from this place of destruction but as a nurse her priority was to stay. "Listen, there are lots of wounded who need to be seen to. I need to stay here."

The soldier walking next to her did not even slow down. "Colonel's orders," he told her.

She stared back over her shoulder at the remnants of the military base. To her horror she saw someone running over the airfield; his clothes were burning. His screams tore into her soul, and she started to run back. Strong hands gripped her and held her back.

"Let me go! Don't you see? That man needs help!" she shouted at her nameless escort. His arms only tightened around her. He yanked her around and pushed her towards the copter. "There's nothing you could do." His voice was harsh.

Anjushka looked back only to see the man jump over the cliff, a flaming fireball forced to earth by gravity. His scream echoed in her ears and she let herself be guided away, setting foot before foot while tears blurred her vision. She was trapped in a living nightmare unable to wake up. If she had ever had doubts about God's existence, they were erased now. If there was something like a God, this would not have happened, would it?

"Hurry," the soldier told her, "there's a patient needing your help in the copter."

The words 'patient', 'need' and 'help' penetrated the fog that clouded her mind, and she clung to them like she would to a safety line. She climbed into the aircraft. Once in, she stopped as if struck and stared in disbelief at the single patient on the stretcher. This copter had room to evacuate half a dozen!

When she turned to voice her protest, she found that her superior, Dr. Svenja Olgaslova Ermatoney, had also been ushered towards the landing field and was now arguing with barely controlled fury with Colonel Ourumov, making furious gestures towards the raging hell behind her. Dr. Ermatoney was voicing her protest at a great volume but Anjushka could not hear her words over the distance and the turning of the rotor blades.

Anjushka tore her gaze away from the two. Let the Doctor handle this, after all, she was just a nurse, wasn't she? Her patient had to come first. She approached the wounded man lying on the stretcher and started to assess his condition. A lot of blood covered his face and the right side was burned severely. It looked like third, probably even forth degree burns. Had the heat injured his throat or even worse, his lungs? She bent down to check his airway when movement outside distracted her.

Dr. Ermatoney was just outside the door now, still shouting. "Under protest! I'll mention your behaviour in my report, Colonel. My responsibility -"

Ourumov did not let the Doctor finish her sentence. Two soldiers urged her into the aircraft. Anger flushed Anjushka's cheeks with warmth when Colonel Ourumov took the front seat. He should have been the last to leave the remains of the Archangel'sk nerve gas facility and should have sent his second-in-command ahead. The more she saw of Ourumov, the more she disliked the man. The door of the helicopter slammed shut, and the pilot wasted no time. The helicopter rose into the air as fast as possible.

The next moment the doctor was at her side. "What's his condition?"

"Unconscious, third to forth degree burns, possibility of shock, danger of dehydration."

"Airway?"

Anjushka proceeded with what she had intended precious minutes ago. Luck seemed to have been on his side; his breathing was even and regular.

"Clear."

"Pulse?"

While Svenja Olgaslova looked at the facial burns, Anjushka quickly checked his pulse. "A bit fast, possibly an indication of shock."

The doctor nodded. "That's to be expected. We need to check the rest of his body."

Anjushka took a pair of scissors and handed another pair to the doctor. Both of them started to cut away his clothes. As she cut the rough fabric, she wondered about the way he was dressed. That was not a regular soldier's uniform. His clothes had offered little protection but it had been enough to keep the injuries to second degree burns at the right upper side of his chest and shoulder. The rest of his body seemed to be unburned but had a few minor wounds. Fortunately none of his major blood vessels had been nicked by any debris. Bruises had started to form here and there but they were no cause for concern.

"Prepare a saline drip. We need to keep him hydrated. And add some antibiotics so that he doesn't get an infection," Doctor Ermatoney ordered and went on to check the patient for broken bones or internal injuries.

"Yes, Doctor." While Anjushka was not used to working on a moving helicopter, she performed her duties to the best of her abilities and as professional as humanly possible. She had the drip attached in record speed and adapted the flow rate of the fluid. More often than she liked, she felt Ourumov look into their direction and she did her best to ignore him. His angry stare seemed intend to burn holes into her back, though.

"Good, neither internal injuries nor broken bones. We'll need to see to the burns now."

Anjushka handed her everything she asked for. Minutes turned to hours and she lost track of the length of time they had already been flying. She barely noticed that they landed a few times to refuel.

Finally they had reached their destination and the helicopter landed. In the darkness of the night all she could see were some buildings. Anjushka had no idea where she was but she was too tired to care and stumbled after the man who promised her a meal and a bed.

* * *

Askani: Thank you for reading and reviewing :) 


	4. Breaking the Truce

Tyme Tryeth Troth Chapter 4: Breaking the Truce?

Alec drifted between unconsciousness and awareness. Subconsciously he knew he should wake up but the fierce pain that hungered for him just below the threshold kept him from doing so. But slowly the agony invaded his dreams and his sleep, and growing in intensity, it pushed him from his state of blissful ignorance back to reality. Dizziness swept over him the moment he woke, and a thousand needles seemed to stab his face at once. He winced and squirmed weakly on the bed he was lying on.

Where was he? What had happened? He should have an answer for both questions but whenever he tried to focus on it, it eluded him. Slowly voices penetrated the daze he was in and his heartbeat quickened when he realised that they did not speak English but Russian. He had been captured on a mission; he needed to escape! Alec struggled to get his bearing, to open his eyes and to move his hands. Panic was rising within him when he could not, and sweat broke from every pore.

"You're awake, aren't you?" one of the voices asked in Russian.

Alec stiffened when he realised he had been stupid enough to give away that he was not unconscious anymore.

"Relax, you're safe, you're safe. We tied you to the bed because once the painkillers wear off, you won't be able to hold still."

Tied? Painkillers? He increased his efforts to break free while the same voice continued to speak to him. The words made no sense, and his struggles grew more frantic when someone pressed his shoulders down onto the mattress.

"There, let me get these off."

A moment later his eyes were free of any cover but his eyelids were so heavy that he could barely open them. Someone, a woman, smiled down on him when he peered through his lashes or what was left of them…left of them? They weren't as thick as normal, he saw that, but that meant nothing to him. Confused he tried to look past the woman but his vision blurred and he could only guess that there was another woman, dressed in a white coat as well. He relaxed slightly, too tired to keep alert anyway.

"We bandaged your eyes as a precaution only. You have severely burned your face but fortunately the explosion did not damage your eyes."

Alec wanted to nod but could not find the strength. Speaking did not work either; his mouth was cottony and he had no feeling in most parts of his face and lips. Burns? He sucked in a sudden breath when comprehension hit him like a shock: the explosion at Archangel'sk and the pain caused by the flames which had claimed its price – nothing less than his flesh and blood. But he did not feel such intensive pain now…Was this reality?

Just as he was slipping back into unconsciousness, he heard a familiar voice say, "Wean him off the drugs! I need to talk to him."

Then Alec knew no more.

When Alec woke again, he instantly regretted it. Fierce pain spread from his face to every other part of his body. He gasped and clenched his fists around the bed sheets, struggling to cope with the horrible burning searing through him.

He did not know how long he had been lying there when the loud closing of a door alerted Alec that someone had entered, someone whose stride betrayed the person's anger raging beneath the surface. Whoever was approaching him was a possible threat. Instinct kicked in and screamed at him to get away or play dead. Alec kept still, just as years of training had taught him.

A harsh voice asked, "Why isn't he awake yet?"

Trevelyan could not understand the answer but he knew that person… The same person had been here earlier. It was vital that he talked to him. Alec forced his eyes open and stared into the hateful face of Ourumov.

"If it weren't for the wounds, I'd shoot you like the dog you are here and now! I'm suspended and facing an inquiry!" The Colonel gripped his shoulders and ripped him to a half-sitting position. "What game are you playing!"

Waves of pain and nausea coursed through Alec's body. Bile rose in his throat and the next moment he was retching.

"Damn!" Ourumov shoved him back onto the mattress. "Did you understand what I just said, you stupid idiot?"

"Bond." Trevelyan spat out between the heaves that shook his body. "It was Bond." Bitter, disbelieving laughter bubbled from his burned lips. "The bastard ruined everything."

Ourumov stared at him with contempt. Then he strode over to the door. When he turned once more, he said, "I promise you one thing, Trevelyan." His eyes glittered and a cold smile played around his lips. "You're going to make it up to me."

The door slammed shut, leaving Alec to ponder his words.


End file.
